


i ain't gotta tell him (i think he knows)

by chuckbass



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish Loves Ronan Lynch, Flirty Adam, M/M, Ronan Lynch Has Feelings, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, Ronan POV, Ronan-Compliant Language, Song: I Think He Knows (Taylor Swift), Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuckbass/pseuds/chuckbass
Summary: Adam had to know, because between rolling his eyes and finishing other people’s sentences, he was smirking again, smirking at Ronan, and drumming his fingers against his cup in a way that was not very casual at all. And, on occasion, he was even daring to lift the cup to his lips and raise a challenging eyebrow at Ronan as he sipped at his drink.Ronan is in love with Adam, and Adam knows.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 27
Kudos: 325





	i ain't gotta tell him (i think he knows)

**Author's Note:**

> howdy y'all!!! so, a while back, somebody asked if i could do a confident-and-flirty-Adam fic based on the song I Think He Knows by Taylor Swift, and i had actually already been writing it at that time! then i lost all inspiration and gave up. but now i'm #socialdistancing and have nothing better to do, so here are five thousand self-indulgent words on Adam flirting with Ronan and Ronan dying about it. hope you enjoy! :)

_I think he knows his footprints on the sidewalk_

_Lead to where I can’t stop_

_Go there every night._

“Come in, Lynch,” Adam Parrish’s muffled voice shouted through the door.

Ronan’s heart didn’t stutter at the fact that Adam knew it was him before the door was even open. It totally didn’t. Ronan Lynch’s heart didn’t do things like _stutter_ or _flutter_ or _skip a beat_. That would just be ridiculous.

Ronan entered the apartment wordlessly, slamming the door behind him and kicking his boots off without ceremony. Adam didn’t even look up from where he sat at his desk, pencil in hand, glaring at the piece of paper in front of him like it had personally offended him somehow. 

“Whatchya workin’ on?” asked Ronan as he flung himself down on Adam’s bed — er, the thin mattress on the floor that Adam called ‘a bed’ and Ronan called ‘a self-important sleeping bag.’ He winced at the impact.

“Calculus,” Adam muttered, twirling his pencil absentmindedly in his hand. Ronan watched just a bit too intently and tried to pretend he wasn’t watching at all. Adam bit down on the tip of the eraser, his lips pulled into a scowl, and then seemed to suddenly realize he was being watched. His eyes darted to Ronan and Ronan froze, but then Adam just… smiled. Well, smirked. Or maybe it was the look in his eyes that changed, not the shape of his mouth.

Whatever it was, it said, _I saw you looking at me._

And then it said, _I don’t mind_.

Ronan twitched an eyebrow in a silent question. In response, the corner of Adam’s lip quirked upwards. Neither boy seemed to be entirely sure of what they were saying, but they also didn’t seem to care.

Ronan was the first to look away, his face flushing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adam grin, victorious, before returning to his homework.

They were both quiet for a long time, the apartment silent except for low breathing sounds and the ceaseless scratching of pencil against paper. Ronan laid in Adam’s bed and glowered at the ceiling; Adam slouched over his desktop and worked and reworked his math homework. Their routine had been uncomfortable at first, awkward, but it had long since developed into something easy and comforting and carefree. Ronan liked it.

Ronan wanted more.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been there — maybe twenty minutes, maybe two hours — before Adam finally stood, turned off his lamp, and stretched his arms high above his head, watching Ronan watch him. They were both acutely aware of the exposed strip of bare skin where Adam’s shirt rode up and the way Ronan’s eyes seemed to flicker to it of their own accord. Adam did that smirking-with-his-eyes thing again. Ronan clenched his jaw.

Ronan made a point of looking away from Adam when Adam went to his dresser and changed into a dark, thin shirt, took off his pants. He took the two steps toward his bed and raised an eyebrow at Ronan, who lowered his gaze from the ceiling just enough to raise a mocking eyebrow in reply.

“Move,” said Adam, kicking a socked foot against the edge of the mattress. Ronan sighed and rolled onto the floor, his head smacking slightly against the splintered floorboards. Adam crawled across the mattress and slid underneath his one ratty blanket, letting his head sink into his still-warm pillow. Ronan risked another glance at him from the floor and immediately regretted it.

“Enjoying the free show?” Adam hummed, giving Ronan a strange look through the darkness. “It’s rude to stare, you know.” He had one arm folded beneath his head and the other splayed across his own chest, his thumb and forefinger rubbing absently at the seam of his blanket. Ronan wanted to reach out and still the movement with his own hand.

Ronan felt his face redden. “I could say the same to you,” he snapped, sitting up and shrugging off his jacket. He balled the fabric up and sank back down, the coat pillowed beneath his head, and turned his back toward Adam.

Adam was oddly quiet for a second, for once in his life not taking the bait and arguing with Ronan. Instead, his mattress creaked as if he were shifting, and then Ronan felt something touch his shoulder. Warm, gentle but solid. Adam’s knuckles.

“It’s okay, Ronan,” murmured Adam in a sleepy voice. He rubbed the knuckles of his index and middle fingers against Ronan’s shoulder for five entire seconds before turning over and immediately falling asleep. Ronan’s breath hitched in his chest.

He didn’t get one second of sleep that night.

_I think he knows his hands around a cold glass_

_Make me wanna know that body like it’s mine._

Ronan was truly in a terrible mood.

They had been at Nino’s for less than twenty minutes, and he had already snapped at Blue with enough venom to warrant a scolding from Gansey, mocked Gansey enough to receive a glare from Adam, ribbed Adam aggressively enough to make Noah laugh, and shoved Noah hard enough to fall victim himself to a sharp kick in the shin from Blue. They didn’t even have their food yet, and he had already completed a full Ronan Hat Trick and was likely to start the process over within minutes.

It wasn’t his fault. Not really. He had been doing fan-fuckin’-tastic earlier that day, thank you very much, had spent the day at the Barns and hadn’t had a single nightmare. The weather was nice and nobody had reamed him for not being at school and things were _good_. 

And then they had gone to Nino’s and Ronan had accidentally reached out for his drink and grabbed Adam’s cup instead, and.

And.

And Adam’s hand had already been there, and the skin-on-skin contact had set Ronan on fire, and he couldn’t stop looking at Adam’s fingers and his nails and his knuckles and the taper of his wrist and Adam _knew_.

Adam had to know, because between rolling his eyes and finishing other people’s sentences, he was smirking again, smirking at Ronan, and drumming his fingers against his cup in a way that was not very casual at all. And, on occasion, he was even daring to lift the cup to his lips and raise a challenging eyebrow at Ronan as he sipped at his drink.

Fucker.

So, Ronan was being a bastard. Well, more of a bastard than usual. He was pulling Blue’s hair and elbowing Noah in the ribs and calling Gansey ‘dad’ and making jokes at Adam’s expense, because if he stopped being a bastard for even half a second, he was going to pull Adam right across the table and kiss him. And _that_ would be embarrassing.

“Lynch,” Gansey said gruffly, his voice half a sigh. “I’m begging you. Stop.” He said it in a tone that was not similar to begging in the slightest — it was an order, not a request. Ronan sneered.

“This is you begging?” he drawled, making a conscience effort to keep his eyes from trailing over toward Adam, who was watching him intently. “Gotta say, Dick, I’m disappointed.”

Gansey rolled his eyes. “Well, that makes two of us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ronan saw Adam moving once again, and his eyes followed the movement without really thinking. Adam, still looking directly at him, gripped his glass tightly and brought it to his mouth, parting his lips to take a long drink. Ronan was staring. Ronan _knew_ he was staring, but couldn’t stop. He felt sort of sweaty, but also really, really cold.

Adam put the glass down and smirked wickedly, gloriously.

Ronan swore under his breath.

“What was that, Lynch?” Adam said quietly, and Gansey and Noah both turned to look at Ronan curiously.

“Fuck you,” Ronan said, a blush creeping across his cheeks as he shook his head.

_He got that boyish look that I like in a man_

_I am an architect, I’m drawing up the plans._

At any given moment in time, Adam Parrish could be counted on to be reserved, responsible, and rational. He gave small, tight-lipped smiles and short, curt nods and shakes of the head. He was always holding some part of himself back, and nobody seemed to be sure if it was on purpose or just a force of habit.

But Adam, alone in Cabeswater with just Ronan at his side, was something different. This version of him was freer, wilder, hungrier. When it was just the two of them, he laughed loudly and open-mouthed, he sang courageously and out-of-tune, he manifested strange and wonderful things. Ronan loved every version of Adam without fail, but this was by and far his favorite.

This Adam was mystical, mythical, magical. He couldn’t stop smiling, and he didn’t seem to want to. His grin never left his face even as they lugged around rocks and fallen trees, even as he swore creatively and delightfully — Ronan felt a surge of pride at _that_ , his ears burning bright red at the sound of his words on Adam’s lips, his brain filing it away for another time. Adam finished off his cheerful tirade with “Jesus Mary mother _fuck_ ” and Ronan had to close his eyes and lean back for a second, the roughness of the trunk of a tree against his bare shoulders grounding him.

“You okay?” Adam asked, happy as ever, wiping his dirty hands on the thighs of his jeans. Ronan followed the movement without meaning to, a flush creeping up his neck when he realized that Adam was smirking at him as if to say _Yeah, I saw that._

“‘M fine, Parrish,” Ronan grunted, breathing in deeply. He tried to refocus his thoughts; they were on a mission. “It’s fuckin’ late. Can we get this done already?”

Although Ronan’s tone had been harsh and clipped, Adam just smiled back at him. “C’mon, then,” he said with half a shug, turning on his heel and guiding them further into the darkness of Cabeswater. A few steps behind, Ronan ground his teeth violently, head tilted back to glower at the branches overhead and the occasional glimpse of stars.

They stopped again not much more than thirty yards later, Ronan watching intently as Adam crouched and placed his hands flat against the ground. The shorter boy cocked his head slightly, his eyelids fluttering closed as he felt for whatever it was exactly that he was looking for, and Ronan allowed himself the opportunity to stare openly and unabashedly. Usually, Adam was a god, untouchable and luminescent and tragic, a marble figure on a pedestal that Ronan crouched at and prayed to. But here, in the broken glow of the moonlight, surrounded by leyline magic and seen only by Ronan, Adam was something else completely — with long fingers and prominent knuckles and dirt and sweat streaked across his golden skin, with a breeze ruffling his desaturated hair and a smile still playing at his lips, with the collar of his shirt dipping to reveal the jut of collarbone and the small scar at the base of his throat — he was simply and deliciously a _boy_ , somebody that could be touched and felt and _loved_ , and Jesus _fuck_ , Ronan was going to _die_.

“Yes,” said Adam suddenly, excitedly. Wrenched from his thoughts, Ronan realized that Adam had long since opened his eyes, and had been staring at Ronan as Ronan stared at him. Neither boy seemed to mind the other’s gaze, though; in fact, they were both grinning. “Right here,” Adam added, patting his hand softly against the dirt. “Help me dig.”

Ronan sank to his knees in front of Adam and dug his hands into the soil, both of them scraping the dirty away with their bare fingers (the argument about whose responsibility it was to remember to bring a shovel was far from over, but their bickering on the subject never grew heated or cruel). Every minute or so, one of them would accidentally-on-purpose brush their hands together, and they would both blush furiously, and right there, at fuck-ass o’clock, dirty and sweaty and on his knees in the middle of the woods, all Ronan could think was _I never want to go home again_.

_I think he knows when we get all alone_

_I’ll make myself at home_

_And he’ll want me to stay._

Ronan was on top of the fucking world.

Maybe his father was dead and his mother could only exist in a magical dream-forest. Maybe his younger brother was a dream and his older brother was an ass. Maybe there was a demon, and everything was going to hell, and Ronan was going to die.

But, by God, he was going to die happy.

He was going to die happy, because he knew what it felt like to kiss Adam Parrish, and, more importantly, he knew what it felt like to _be kissed by_ Adam Parrish. It felt like winning a drag race, it felt like winning a fight, it felt like pulling something beautiful from his dreams and knowing it only existed because he willed it so. It felt like _being a king._

“I didn’t know,” Ronan breathed between kisses, balling the fabric of Adam’s shirt between his fists. 

It was not a coherent sentence, not really, but Adam understood it anyway. His fingernails scraped dully across the back of Ronan’s neck. “You didn’t?” he whispered, teeth worrying Ronan’s bottom lip. 

Ronan felt a small, embarrassing whine claw its way out of his throat. He deepened the kiss to distract Adam from it, but it was too late; he could feel Adam’s smirk against his lips. God, he was _burning_. “Well, I mean,” he panted, one of his hands coming up underneath Adam’s head to tilt his chin up slightly, make the angle better. “I thought. But. I didn’t…”

Adam took a step forward, pushing Ronan slowly against one of the columns of the porch. Ronan’s spine straightened and a shudder went through him. Adam was pressed fully against him, kissing him _like he meant it_. “I knew,” he breathed into Ronan’s mouth. One of his hands, his fucking _hands_ , ran up Ronan’s back underneath his shirt. Ronan was on fucking _fire_ , and he never wanted to stop burning. “I knew. I didn’t know, but then I did.”

Ronan couldn’t stop himself from quirking an eyebrow, but Adam’s eyes were closed as he mouthed against Ronan’s jaw, so he didn’t see it. “When?” Ronan rasped.

Adam hummed thoughtfully against the sharp lines of Ronan’s face. “The rent,” he mumbled, teeth nipping against skin, eliciting another noise from Ronan that he hadn’t even known he could make. “When I figured it out. I realized.”

They were speaking purely in broken, half-formed sentences, relying more on touch than speech to communicate with one another. This was how Ronan liked it — this was what Ronan was made for. If a picture was worth a thousand words, Ronan thought a touch was worth a million. A billion. A zillion. Was that even a real number? Probably not. He shook the thought out of his head.

“Hm?” Adam said, pulling back slightly, his head cocked to the side. Ronan realized Adam thought he was shaking his head to tell him to stop; it was really quite the opposite. 

“Come back,” Ronan positively _whined_ , and he was flushing bright pink as he gripped Adam’s shirt tighter and pulled him back in.

Adam laughed breathily against Ronan’s lips, but it wasn’t mocking; it was just _happy_. “We should go inside,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against Ronan’s so gently that Ronan thought he might fucking melt. 

“Yeah,” said Ronan without moving. Instead, he chased Adam’s lips with his own, his hands moving to Adam’s hips gently to try and pull the other boy in even closer. Adam chuckled again, his eyes still shut at their closeness, and then took a big step backward, punctuated by a dramatic sigh.

“Come _on_ ,” Adam huffed, voice colored with amusement. He linked a hand with one of Ronan’s and tugged the taller boy forward as Adam took a step back, guiding him toward the front door. Ronan followed like a lost puppy, his chest still heaving underneath his tight shirt. Adam’s eyes kept flickering toward the movement, a wicked grin slowly curling his lips. The flames consuming Ronan burned blue and white.

The living room was dark when Ronan shoved the door closed behind him with the heel of his boot. Adam kept walking backward, dragging Ronan along, stumbling slightly as he kicked off his chucks. Ronan followed suit, taking considerably more effort and balance to remove his boots without using his hands, and in the end they fell into a giggling heap on the couch, Adam writhing and laughing underneath Ronan so giddily that it almost didn’t feel real.

“Can I —” Adam started, blushed crimson, threw his head back dramatically against the prickly couch pillow. Tried again. “Can I take your shirt off?”

Ronan was a dying star. He was burning so hot he didn’t think it would ever end. He didn’t think he _wanted_ it to ever end.

In the silence, Adam seemed to decide that Ronan’s hesitation was a lack of enthusiasm. “It’s totally okay if not—” He began, and then Ronan was throwing himself forward with so much aggression that their teeth banged together savagely. They both winced without pulling back, adjusted their positions to allow for less pain and more pleasure in their kissing. 

The tips of Ronan’s ears were hot as he said, “Yeah,” licking a stripe down the column of Adam’s throat. Adam went boneless, sinking deep into the couch, lips parted and trembling.

“Huh?” he asked, voice cracking on the single syllable. Ronan smirked against his Adam’s apple.

“You can take it off,” grunted Ronan, moving his arms just enough to allow for Adam to pull the shirt up and over his head. Adam did so quickly and clumsily and greedily, his fingers sliding across each inch of exposed skin like he was a drowning man grasping for salvation. Ronan didn’t even attempt to repress his shudder.

“Turn over,” Adam murmured suddenly, tossing Ronan’s shirt haphazardly into the darkness of the corner of the room. Ronan froze for a beat, nosed the hollow of Adam’s throat, then sat back on his heels. 

It was Ronan’s turn to say, “Huh?”

Adam blushed furiously. “I mean — not like — I wanna look at your tattoo,” he gasped, the words fighting their way out of him almost against his will. “Can I — can I — can I touch it?”

This time, there was no hesitation. Still smiling wildly, Ronan twisted and threw himself down on his stomach on the other side of the couch, resting his forehead on his clasped hands casually. “‘S all yours, Parrish,” he said, voice muffled but excited nonetheless. Adam crawled toward him, coming up behind him and straddling his back so nervously that it was endearing. Ronan didn’t dare look up.

“It’s a lot,” Adam said in a very quiet voice. He was moving slowly, speaking softly, as if he were afraid of scaring Ronan or breaking a spell. “I’ve never really looked at it before.”

Ronan said nothing; he simply relaxed into Adam’s touch, letting himself truly appreciate the feeling of calloused fingertips trailing over patterns and shapes Ronan couldn’t even see. He pictured Adam’s hands, gentle and inquisitive, and swallowed audibly. This was a dream. This was a dream.

Adam leaned forward and kissed the very top of Ronan’s spine, his lips feather-light.

This was not a dream. This was _better_. 

Even after Adam’s lips were gone, his hands were still mapping the lines and planes of Ronan’s back, still tracing the figures and feathers. How he could see any of it in the dim porchlight filtering through the windows, Ronan wasn’t sure, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining.

“Unguibus et rostro,” murmured Adam, so softly that Ronan thought for a moment that he had imagined it.

With a sort of desperation Ronan had not known till that moment, he reached behind himself and grabbed blindly for Adam’s hand. Adam slid his fingers between Ronan’s obligingly, and then gasped audibly as Ronan brought his hand to his mouth and kissed a knuckle.

“Should I—”

Adam interrupted shakily. “Keep going,” he said, asked, _begged_. Ronan couldn’t even be bothered to smirk before kissing the next knuckle.

He was never fucking sleeping again.

_I think he knows he’d better lock it down_

_Or I won’t stick around ‘cause good ones never wait._

Adam’s knuckles were still scabbed.

Adam’s knuckles were still scabbed, and Ronan’s neck was still sore and bruised yellow, and Blue still had (a second set of) stitches in her face, and Henry was still rambling nervously every time they hung out, and Gansey still disappeared into himself with alarming regularity. The past week had somehow been both the longest and the shortest of Ronan’s life, and that was really saying something.

Life after nearly being unmade was strange in many ways, Ronan was noticing. For instance, Declan was going a little easier on him — he was still bitching him out for officially dropping out of school, of course, but a little less aggressively than they both knew he was capable of. Ronan was also spending much more time at Fox Way, because Opal loved spending time with the witches, and also because Adam was worried about Ronan being alone at the Barns all day, every day.

Adam. That was where the most differences were, now: Adam and Ronan. Ronan and Adam. Together. Singularly. Adam, holding Ronan’s hand; Adam, kissing Ronan in the Beemer; Adam, Adam, Adam. They hadn’t talked about it yet, but it had been a thing since that night at the Barns, since _claws and beaks_ , since falling asleep twisted around each other on the old couch in Ronan’s living room. It was a thing. Probably. Sort of. Hopefully.

Ronan was not one to require a _label_. Even he wasn’t that childish or insecure, even he wasn’t that desperate. But. But. But, it would be _nice_ , he thought. It might be _nice_ if, on top of getting to kiss Adam and cuddle with Adam and brush Adam’s hair out of his face, if he could also call Adam his _boyfriend_.

Or, you know. Whatever.

The thing was, Ronan didn’t do casual. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it — he wasn’t _built_ for it. He wasn’t wired that way. It went past dislike, it was about straight-up not understanding. Ronan Lynch loved hard and deep and steadfast. Ronan Lynch mated for life. Everybody knew this, Adam sure as hell knew it, and there was no way he was going to try and make _anything_ with Ronan ‘casual.’ Ronan knew this as certainly as he knew his own name, but still. He would have liked to hear Adam say it.

Adam, as it turned out, may have been a fucking mind reader.

“Ronan,” he said breathlessly, pulling out of their kiss so quickly that Ronan felt unbalanced. Adam placed a hand on his shoulder to keep them both upright, smirking slightly, but then his face went serious again. “What — ugh, how do I say this without sounding like a parody of a fifteen-year-old girl? — what _are_ we?”

Ronan, still distracted by Adam’s dark pupils and kiss-red lips, had seen more eloquent days. “Whaddya mean?” he heard himself say, low and breathy. 

“I mean, like, are we — we, you know, we do this a lot, and I just thought — oh, nevermind.” Adam cringed uncomfortably, his entire face turning an unfortunate shade of red, and then he was pulling Ronan back in. “We don’t have to talk about it. If you don’t want to.” 

The dots connected in Ronan’s head (which was truly a marvel, because his brain was only receiving about half of its usual blood flow). “Oh,” he breathed, their lips centimeters apart. “Oh. Are you — are you saying —”

“Are we boyfriends?” Adam asked, his voice pained and anxious and hopeful all at once. His eyes were wide with vulnerability, such a rare sight that Ronan took a second just to drink it in. Adam Parrish — Adam goddamn _Parrish_ — was being open and vulnerable and honest. With Ronan. Only with Ronan.

He swallowed hard.

“Do you want to be boyfriends?” Ronan asked weakly, his fingers splaying on either side of the back of Adam’s neck. He rubbed greedily at his hairline. 

Adam blinked once, twice, three times in rapid succession. “Yeah,” he admitted, leaning into Ronan’s touch slightly. “Yes.”

Ronan’s grin was so wide it _hurt_. “Then we’re boyfriends,” he murmured, too happy to be sarcastic about it. He leaned forward and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss against Adam’s lips. His _boyfriend’s_ lips. 

“Boyfriends,” Adam echoed, and then his mouth dipped down to the junction of Ronan’s neck and shoulder, and Ronan’s brain went blissfully blank.

_Lyrical smile, indigo eyes, hand on my thigh_

_We could follow the sparks, I’ll drive._

_”So where we gonna go?”_

_I whisper in the dark_

_”So where we gonna go?”_

“Get in the car.”

Adam raised an eyebrow, but he walked around to the passenger side of the Beemer anyway. “A please would be nice,” he mumbled, opening the door and sliding easily into the leather seat. He was still in his grease-stained coveralls, halfway-unzipped and the sleeves tied loosely around his hips — Ronan had to take a second to devour the sight of him.

From where he was already buckled in behind the wheel, Ronan grinned, sharp and feral. “Since when have you known me to say ‘please,’ Parrish?”

Adam thought for a moment, shifting his head side-to-side as Ronan peeled out of the parking lot. His eyes flickered from the road to the speedometer to Adam and then back around, landing on the stretch of asphalt in front of him just as Adam said, in a voice filthier than Ronan had been expecting, “I can name a couple times.”

Shifting gears, Ronan snorted. “Well, this ain’t one of ‘em.” He turned sharply, chancing a glance at Adam, and the other boy was already looking back, one hand gripping the handle above his door casually. 

“Where’re we going?” Adam drawled, trying just a little too hard to sound bored.

Ronan’s grin went from ‘feral’ to ‘ _fucking_ feral.’ He arched one dangerous eyebrow. “You’ll see.”

Adam’s only response was a sigh, but it was not a defeated sigh, nor was it annoyed or tired; it really served no purpose at all, other than indicating his acknowledgment of Ronan’s words. Adam Parrish was not the type of person to do anything purposelessly, but sighing just for the sake of sighing was a habit he was picking up from Ronan for better or for worse.

Ronan couldn’t say that he minded. He really couldn’t.

They drove in comfortable silence for a few minutes, broken only when Ronan ran a red light without thinking about it and Adam said, softly but scoldingly, “ _Ronan_.” Ronan’s hands fidgeted sheepishly on the steering wheel and he slowed his speed by five miles per hour as his penance. 

They were outside of Henrietta when Adam seemed to realize that they might be driving for a while, and Ronan watched peripherally as he settled more comfortably into his seat. Head leaned back against the cushioned headrest, long legs stretched out before him, one elegant hand coming to rest causally (but not so casually) on Ronan’s thigh across the gearshift. Despite himself, Ronan felt a blush on his cheekbones. He silently cursed his stupid Irish genes. 

They were almost to their destination when there was a sudden flash of light in the near distance, an explosion momentarily coloring the night sky. Ronan, who, for the most part, had been expecting it, gave no visible reaction; Adam, however, jolted slightly in his seat, his hand tightening incrementally on Ronan’s thigh. Ronan tried very hard not to think too much about it.

“Was that…?” Adam’s question trailed off almost as soon as it began, his head tilting to the side and his brows furrowing slightly as he trained his eyes on the vast expanse of sky before them. He was waiting for something.

He only had to wait a few more seconds — just as suddenly as before, a second firework exploded against the star-ridden sky. To any random passers-by, the green flares would look normal, the timing close enough to be logically explained as an early Independence Day celebration. But Adam Parrish was no random passerby.

“Fireworks don’t come in that shade of green,” he mused as a third shower of sparks illuminated his face. He was leaning forward now, the diagonal portion of his seatbelt slipped off to allow his forearm to rest against the dashboard and his face turned up at an angle to watch the show properly. The index finger and thumb of his left hand rubbed absently at an artful tear in Ronan’s jeans.

Ronan shifted gears. “Nope,” he said simply, staring at Adam as long as he dared before returning his gaze to the road. 

“You dreamed these.” Adam’s voice was quiet with awe, and also strangely choked with emotion. Ronan swallowed hard.

“Yep,” he whispered, finally pulling the Beemer off the road and into the high grass of an empty field. The vehicle bounced slightly on the uneven ground for a couple dozen yards before, without rhyme or reason, Ronan chose a random spot and put the car in park. He turned it off, threw a sidelong glance Adam’s way, and then undid his seatbelt and stepped out of the Beemer meaningfully. 

Adam followed suit, eyeing Ronan curiously as he kicked at a tire and then climbed up on the hood of the car. When Adam didn’t immediately climb up beside him, Ronan opened his arms in a silent question, and Adam’s face broke into a crooked grin as he joined Ronan, fitting his body perfectly against his boyfriend’s. Ronan maneuvered them slightly so that Adam could see the sky and Ronan could see Adam.

As pastel green continued to flare across the sky and their breathing began to sync up, Ronan let himself just stare at Adam’s face. His gorgeous summer-tan skin, chapped lips parted in wonder, the reflections of the fireworks turning his blue eyes teal. “I love you,” Ronan said, unable to stop himself.

It wasn’t the first time he had said it, but Adam inhaled in surprise. He immediately softened, though, as he tore his gaze from the sky to fix Ronan with the deepest, most intense stare he had ever seen. “I love you, too,” Adam said, voice soft but steady.

Ronan leaned in to kiss him then, a slow, _we-have-all-the-time-in-the-world_ kiss, one hand blindly reaching for Adam’s and interlocking their fingers. He pulled away just enough to press their foreheads together, and Adam sighed, their lips barely brushing.

“Happy birthday, Parrish,” Ronan breathed. 

Adam squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Ronan.”

_I think he knows._

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it! as always, you are more than welcome to come interact with me on tumblr, i'm @wespers :)


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